


My dear old friend- Loneliness

by PjCole



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pre and Post Reichenbach, Short, angsty, in a pleasant sort of way, poetic like woah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PjCole/pseuds/PjCole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loneliness does not introduce himself, instead he waits until someone comes along and gives him the peace to leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My dear old friend- Loneliness

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from, but I like it. Hope you do to!

He moves in shadows and lingers along sun spots, finds warmth in cold hearts and eats away at heated minds. He stands mountains tall and shrinks into pockets under the skin, ebbs through street ways as toxic black smoke and flows along the cliffs as clear water. Loneliness learns many skills, but never masters anyone with more grace than hiding in plain view. In fact, though I shall never admit it, he is much better at it than I.

 

-.-.-.-.-

He moves with a broken sort of grace, even without the limp, not so much carelessly as comfortably. He does not glide, he does not stomp, he is anything but clumsy, and yet most days anyone can hear him shuffle about. He stands no higher than many and shorter than most, clears his throat while reading and scratches absently at the dry skin by his elbow. John fills the silence with a soothing nonchalance, but what I thank him for most is introducing Loneliness to me. Had it not been for his graceless walk and mindless noise, I would have remained blind to my age old friend. 

Loneliness does not introduce himself, of course not, being a proper gentlemen and such. He is not unlike a party guest no one remembers seeing until they bid a quite farewell. Some will mistake this for rudeness, call it strange and uncomfortable, but if they took a moment they would remember him offering a glass of water or standing close to them while everyone else ignored their presence. 

For much of my life I believed alone protected me, but in reality Loneliness cared a great deal more. He walked along side me in the busy streets of London, brushing my hand whenever the buzz of information was too much. He took the brunt of crisp wind when I walked home from a crime scene, too deep in thought to catch a cab. He whispered warnings that kept me from putting more than I knew I could handle into my half destroyed veins. He kept the silence from suffocating me and the noise from driving me mad.

I suppose he took a greater care of me than he would have most, and possibly, that is why I came to know him so well. People often say Loneliness kills, but he is too much of a simpleton to plot murders. Sure, he is cold to the touch and a bit frightening in his silence, but all of his actions are a fight to keep his companion alive. He fought quite restlessly for me and gave me company when no other dared to, but I did not miss him once he left.

When John stepped in, cane in one hand and offered mobile in the other, Loneliness bowed out gracefully with a small unimportant wave. Thinking back, John must have patted him on the back and called him by name, or even thanked him for holding the spot of ‘friend’ while he hurried to get to me, for it was Dr. John Watson that introduced us. How and when exactly have become quite hard to remember, but there is not a doubt of that fact in my mind.

Perhaps the introduction came later, in a passing conversation of past lives. Perhaps when John placed a cup of tea next to me he also told me the man’s name. It would be like my blogger, highlighting dull facts I would otherwise delete and insisting it was somehow important to remember the names of people I never planned on seeing again. John might have told me the name while handing me a portion of the the daily paper over, or between giggles we tried hopelessly to suppress. Maybe he even whispered it against my skin on one of the early nights I spent in his bed, or even during the few he spent in mine. How ever it came about does not matter, all that remains is the knowledge I have of my dear companions name. 

I will thank John one day for etching that name into my memory, I think knowing it made Loneliness happier to befriend me again. He did not seem to hold a grudge when he stepped up on the ledge, nor does he seem angry about following me around while I hide in shadows. The moment I said “Goodbye John” he appeared next to me, giving a pleasant nod when I welcomed him by name. And now, months later whenever it escapes my lips he will scoot closer and regard me with his silent smile before turning away and letting his soothing chill calm me. 

In his differences, I long for John even more. What keeps me from resenting the company of my oldest friend, is the hope that soon John will introduce us again.


End file.
